Farewell, my four-legged master of the real Downton Abbey: Lady Carnarvon's fond eulogy for Percy the golden labrador who lorded it over location of ITV period drama

Sitting in the garden on a beautiful afternoon, I watched as three figures roared round the lawn in fits of laughter.

My son Eddie, then four, was being pulled along on his toy tractor by our golden labrador, Percy.

At the head of the procession was my husband, Geordie, holding Percy on a lead lest he pick up too much speed. They all found it utterly hilarious. It was one of those golden, sunny moments when all’s right with the world.

This was nearly ten years ago, and it’s now a cherished memory because our beloved Percy died last month. Some people compare the death of a pet to the loss of a close human friend.

Though I wouldn’t say the two things are quite the same, there’s no denying my husband and I went to pieces when Percy’s time came.

A big dog with a lovely broad head that I never tired of hugging, Percy was the grand old man of our home, Highclere Castle, which is also used as the set for the TV programme Downton Abbey.

Percy loved swimming, fetching sticks and, of course, food. He made it his business to know where all the bins were from which to scavenge leftovers and he had a sixth sense for the arrival of the butcher’s van - from which he’d try his best to steal his favourite sausages.

Whenever the Downton Abbey crew arrived for filming, he made a beeline for the catering trucks.

Should any of the crew be foolish enough to leave an open rucksack on the ground, their packed lunch would be snaffled within seconds.

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Occasionally Pharaoh or Isis, the two Downton labradors who play Lord Grantham’s faithful hound, would be on set. I preferred Isis, as it was Percy’s Castle and he would much rather share it with a girl than a fellow male.

There was no doubt that Percy ruled the roost.

Unlike the Downton dogs, he was never on a lead, and he was an excellent working gundog in the winter. He loved everything about being part of a house like Highclere, and we loved him.

These past few weeks, I have found myself looking round for him when I pop into the kitchen for a cup of tea. But he is not there to trip over; nor is he sprawled in front of the fridge or every cupboard I want to open.

I bought Percy 13 years ago from a dear friend, Jo, who lives across the fields from us. My sister Lucy picked him out as the fattest and boldest in the litter. ‘He’s a real porker!’ she said.

We brought him home with us, and from then on he was Percy Porker.

Lord of the manor: Percy, pictured in 2012, was the grand old man of Highclere Castle - but also had a healthy sense of mischief

As a child, I had been brought up with Lucy’s dog Lotty, a much-loved cocker spaniel. We lived in London, so Lotty was a good size for carrying on buses.

I had wanted my son Eddie, now 14, to grow up with a dog, too: a loyal friend to love and be loved by, someone to play with, cuddle up with and run with.

I waited until Eddie was 18 months - and sturdy enough to get up again if he was bowled over by a boisterous puppy - before contemplating getting a dog.

But I needn’t have worried because Percy loved him. A tiny bundle of golden fluff, he could fit into the palm of my hand at that point.

On the advice of Jo, we bought him a large metal cage so he had his own space. We kept it in the kitchen, the centre of family life, and he loved it in there.

Soon, though, he was racing round the gardens and lawns of Highclere as if he owned the place, seemingly oblivious to the visitors quietly perusing the house and gardens.

Very quickly he developed a taste for the scones served in the visitors’ tearoom. He worked out that Hoovering up the crumbs underneath the tables would provoke the staff to coax him away - with an entire scone of his own.

Of course, once he’d gobbled the treat in the garden, he’d zoom straight back in for more crumbs - and another scone-shaped bribe.

Percy could also distinguish the sound of the butcher’s van engine from those of the other cars to-ing and fro-ing around Highclere. He would sidle to the back of the kitchen whenever he heard it, ready to pilfer sausages or a side of beef.

This proved so disastrous for our chef that we had to build a special wooden ‘Percy-proof’ delivery box.

Otherwise he would arrive at the back door to find half of what was to be the day’s supper strewn across the floor — and the other half inside a somewhat shame-faced Percy.

Undisputed: Even when Lord Grantham's pets were at Highclere for filming, it was clear Percy remained top dog

Yet it was this sense of mischief that made him such good company. When Percy was about five years old, he amazed us all by running three miles and swimming across Milford Lake to reach my sister-in-law Carolyn Warren’s house.

Her labrador bitch was on heat and Carolyn had let her out for a moment, thinking the coast was clear, not knowing that Percy had picked up her scent and was hot-footing it over there.

He returned four hours later, covered in mud - and a litter of adorable puppies was born eight weeks later.

We call it Percy’s Milk Tray moment, after the TV advert in which a James Bond-type character scaled great heights to deliver chocolates to his beloved. We ended up giving a home to one of the puppies - a beautiful, kind labrador called Bella.

As well as being a secret romantic, Percy was a dog who simply loved people. If ever Eddie had a bad day at school, Percy would sleep in his bed that night.

He adored Alex, the fourth of my five sisters, and it was very funny to watch him attempt to sit on her knee as if he were a dainty chihuahua.

She would kindly sit there for hours with this great big lolloping dog sprawling across her. It never ceased to make us laugh.

It was terribly sad to see Percy’s mischievous side begin to wane as his health failed.

Two or three years ago, he began to show his age, suffering from joint trouble and back trouble. He was slowing down. But then so do we all; we creak and get a bit stiffer.

Cheeky: When he was five years old Percy shocked Highclere by running and swimming three miles to father a litter with a neighbour's pet

It was, nevertheless, a terrible shock when he went. The day before he’d been dashing around the courtyard in good form, playing games of tag with members of our banqueting team who cater for large events at the castle.

The following morning, Geordie went to let Percy out, but he couldn’t move. One of his front legs wouldn’t work and the base of his spine seemed to have gone.

A devastated Geordie had to carry him outside. He and Percy looked at each other and they both knew.

An hour later, I set off for the vets with two wonderful men who help me in the kitchens and the house, Indra and Raj. They carried Percy on a blanket into the car and came with me, telling me about their family dogs in Nepal.

The end was all very quick. There was nothing the vets could do, but I was there with him, stroking him as he died. It was dignified and peaceful.

Nevertheless, I was inconsolable. So much so that the vet suggested I leave by the back door to avoid seeing the other customers in the waiting room.

My sisters all rang, and we waited to break the news to Eddie when he returned from school the next day. I couldn’t tell him something like that over the phone.

Needless to say, Eddie was as devastated as his father.

Percy had been through so much with us all: the death of Geordie’s father in 2001; our early years of endless repairs to the castle roof; the first four seasons of Downton and its endless food supply...